Wednesday 3 September 2014 09.00 EDT
First published on Wednesday 3 September 2014 09.00 EDT

In Los Angeles in the late 1930s, Eli Samson is scratching a living as a shoeshine boy, his existence as restricted and diminished by racial segregation as that of the rest of the black population of America. When a rich white man sits down for a polish, Eli sucks in a quick lungful of the man's cigar smoke, but an even more tantalising opportunity is opened up to him: the chance to be an extra in a movie. Rounding up a dozen friends as instructed, Eli presents himself at the studio gates, only to be sent around to the side entrance: "coloreds" can't walk in through the front gate. This is just the first humiliation swallowed by Eli in his desperation for money and the fierce hope of a break. The boys are costumed in raffia skirts and bone necklaces and told to muss up their smartly oiled hair: they'll be playing African savages dancing around a captive white heartthrob.

Eli has a talent for acting and manages to take further steps towards the dream of becoming a film star. At every stage, the heavy rules of segregation (and the naked racism behind them) limit his ambition and poison his sense of self. From stereotyped bit parts in movies made by the Hollywood studios (including a fictionalised version of Gone With the Wind), Eli takes a side-step into "race movies" – independent films made expressly for African American audiences with all-black casts. The money isn't so good but at least he can hold his head up in the neighbourhood again.

LM Latham's command of her subject matter is so complete that one might assume this was a spot of moonlighting by the American television script-writer who shares her name. But no, this LA Latham isn't the creator of Knot's Landing and The Young and the Reckless but UK-based debut author: nevertheless, Shoot the Savage is pure storytelling, moving forward as smoothly and confidently as a Rolls-Royce.

Her characterisation and plotting are so solid, it would almost be possible to mistake them for cliche. Eli and his political hothead brother Jem, their hard-pressed and heartsore Momma, Eli's girlfriend Belle (who makes her way into Hollywood culture via a very different route to Eli's) and his exploitative agent Bernie DaSilva could seem like stereotypes but this would be unfair. Rather, they are fully conceived, fleshed-out: they breathe. The writing is all in the service of character and plot, almost invisible in terms of style, but this is a formula that pleases readers in their millions and not to be sneered at.

In a note at the end of the book, Latham thanks those who supported her in the writing of "a difficult book about a challenging subject" and it is absolutely to her credit that she has created an account so seamlessly convincing that it could easily be used to teach younger readers about the insidious misery of state-sanctioned racism. Perhaps the book's key achievement is to link external oppression so intimately to internal, psychological damage. But it's also a very engaging read and surely a candidate for filming.